One ass chewing and I became a ‘suck up your pride, take responsibilities for your actions and get the job done’ girl (no matter how embarrassed or intimidated I might’ve been).

…

The other day at work, we were discussing how it seems as though kids who were raised around agriculture have a unique work ethic and knack for using common sense.

I am not measuring anyone’s work ethic on influences of being raised or not being raised on a farm, because I understand there are infinite factors, and that not all of us have the luxury of such a lifestyle. But from observation and experience, I can attest that my upbringing of handling livestock, heavy equipment, and early mornings typically contributed to my successful actions as an adult.

…

Were there days I threw a fit because I didn’t want to go out and break ice in the stock tank at 5:30 AM? You bet.

Were there days I rolled my eyes when my Dad told me to road a tractor from Wildhorse alllllll the way to Cheyenne Wells? You bet.

Were there days I “faked” sick so I didn’t have to go drive a sprayer on a Saturday? You bet. (That trick never worked).

The first time I heard my dad say the “f” word is the day I am forever indebted to.

Had it not been for the way my Dad raised a corn-fed, God-fearing, tomboy in glittery boots, I would most assuredly not be where I stand today.

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Dad: Thank you for the ass-chewings, thank you for forcing me out of my comfort zone, thank you for encouraging me to “man up,” thank you for showing me how to budget and plan and persevere.

Thank you for being the epitome of everything I look for in a husband. Thank you for teaching me how to deal with people, how to “suck it up,” and how to love others unconditionally. Thank you for accepting that you didn’t have any sons, but that your oldest daughter would be the closest you could get. Thank you for appreciating the way I enjoy hip hop and small tattoos and art and dressing like a total “hippie,” even though you’re not crazy about any of those things. Thank you for sitting in my combine with me and singing Vince Gill and George Strait at the top of your lungs. Thank you for honking at “monkeys in the road,” and teaching me (or at least trying to) how to drive an 18-wheeler.

Thank you for being there, always, thank you for constantly reminding me of my roots, and thank you for doing your part in serving this world with the fruits of your labor.

*PS-I didn’t hear him say the “f” word for about four years after that day. And that’s a whole ‘nother story, ya’ll!

I love this! As the middle of three girls growing up on a farm, I can attest to the work ethic that we’ve learned. Although I’ve never heard my Dad say that particular word in front of his girls, you’d better believe we got ripped for not doing things the way they should be.
My Dads favorite quote (and I’m waiting on him to spout it at his 10 yr old grand daughter while they are in the barn working her show steer and heifer) is “Get your head out of your ass”!!

Thanks, Ginger. My Dad has three girls as well-I’m the oldest. (The middle one got a butt-chewing too). That particular word doesn’t come out of his mouth often; hearing that scared us more than the bull ever could! I appreciate your comments 🙂

so many of us raised in the heartlands understand things that city people can only ‘shake there head in bewilderment’ I too thanks my father for teaching me so many things, and my mother as well for all the time an effort she put out keeping us in clothes and food on the table. I am forever thankful for their lessons and deep seated religious beliefs. May God watch over them for all eternity.